Broken Love

by Drake, Tabatha

  And it’ll happen to me as soon as my bullet catches up.

  That’s not fair. Boxcar doesn’t deserve that.

  “Caleb?”

  I look over at him. He’s propped up on one elbow, staring over at me in the dark with that adorable, boyish smirk.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, reading me like a damn book.

  The city lights pull me back one more time. The sky bleeds a lighter shade of blue. Dawn must be breaking. I wonder if Fox saw the sunrise one last time before he died. I hope he did.

  “Caleb?”

  Boxcar stands over me now, shirtless in slacks, with heavy eyes full of love and longing for me and only me. Three blissful, never-ending days in a bed together and he still looks at me like he’s never seen me before.

  But someday…

  Chapter 25

  Boxcar

  Well, that was unexpected.

  Who am I kidding? This is Caleb Fawn. This wasn’t unexpected at all. It was downright inevitable. I’m not sure why I thought exchanging vows would somehow mean she was ready for commitment. It’s more surprising that it lasted a whole three days before she booted me out of our hotel room.

  But we’re married now, so I’m gone but not out. If she needs some time to vent and think, then I’ll give her that time. I don’t mind doing that but, eventually, she’ll open her door to me, and things will go back to normal until her next attack of conscience. Hopefully, if I’m lucky, these bursts of frustration will happen less and less until they disappear completely. I’ll keep my patience until then.

  She’s worth it.

  For now, I’ll hang out in this hotel room a floor down from hers and wait it out. She’ll come down here, knock on the door, and she’ll smile. I’ll kiss her, she’ll kiss me back, and I’ll carry her to the bed for a bit of tender punishment. If there’s one person I know better than myself in this world, it’s Caleb Fawn.

  A knock strikes the door and a grin spreads over my face.

  See? I told you.

  I open the door and pause, looking into the eyes of a pudgy, middle-aged man in a suit.

  “Bartholomew Carson?”

  “Yeah,” I answer.

  He holds out a brown envelope. “You’ve been served.”

  I let him drop it into my hand. Just as quickly as he arrived, he spins around and bolts down the hall toward the elevator without even a glance back over his shoulder. A straight-up fucking hit and run.

  I close the door and stare at the envelope for a full minute before opening it and sliding the pages out.

  PETITION FOR DIVORCE.

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

  She did it. She actually freakin’ did it. When she told me she never wanted to see my face again, she meant it in every possible way.

  This is a joke. It has to be a sick prank. Ha-ha, Caleb. Very funny…

  I scan the pages one-by-one, feeling even more nauseous the more I read. She’s signed them already. Her name in black ink right here. Caleb Fawn. All they need now is my signature and the best thing that ever happened to me will be like it never happened at all.

  Fuck that shit.

  I slide the papers back into the envelope and grab my messenger bag off the floor. If she wants to split up for a while — fine — but I won’t give her the satisfaction of filing these forms and dropping me for good. She can’t do that if I never send them back to her and she can’t force me to give them to her if she doesn’t know where I am.

  You don’t want to see my face ever again? I’ll make that easy for you, Caleb Fawn.

  I open the back pocket of my bag and I slide the envelope inside, zipping it tightly closed to hold them there.

  Sorry, honey. No divorce today. Looks like you’re stuck with me.

  I catch sight of the notepad inside the bag and I hesitate before pulling it out. I sketched that black snake from memory the best I could. The same snake I saw dangling from that pendant around Marilyn Black’s neck. Her mysterious family. Their nonexistent land in Paris. Even the military and this fucking Paxton guy. There’s a bigger picture here but I don’t have enough pieces to put the puzzle together or make any sense out of it.

  My curiosity grows.

  I throw my bag over my shoulder as I leave Las Vegas for good.

  Chapter 26

  Boxcar

  Now

  Did Robin Hood ever take an arrow for Maid Marian? I honestly can’t remember.

  One thing’s for sure, though. Being a hero isn’t what it’s cracked up to be. Everyone knows getting shot hurts. I knew what to expect, but what I never expected was for there to be so much pain from such a tiny graze.

  The blast slid across my back, scratching my shoulder in multiple places. If I’d been one second too late or an inch to the left…

  Let’s not think about it.

  A handful of stitches later and it was done. My concern was on Caleb the entire time. The doctor who checked her out had no idea what Elijah injected her with. Some kind of homemade tranquilizer, incredibly potent and super not legal. Given the rate it’s leaving her system, he thinks she’ll be fine after a good night’s rest in her own bed.

  I carry her up the stairs to her loft, ignoring the throbbing pain in my back. There aren’t a lot of moments in life when I get to play the cool guy. I’m not passing up the chance to carry the damsel over the threshold.

  Caleb reaches out and twists the doorknob for me. The loft is exactly as it was before. A perfect constant to an otherwise chaotic day.

  I carry her inside. She cautiously squeezes my jacket a little tighter as I lower her down onto her bed.

  “Try and get some rest, okay?” I tell her, laying her arms at her sides. “You should have your strength back by morning.”

  “Are you leaving?” she asks.

  Her eyes shake. It’s clear what she wants the answer to be and it makes my heart grow a little larger.

  “No.” I pause to watch the short breath of relief as it passes through her. “I’ll be here…”

  Caleb shifts onto her side and her hand falls to the sheets beneath her, gently crawling toward me as fast as her weak muscles will allow. Her hand touches mine and she smiles back at me.

  “It’s going to be okay, Caleb,” I whisper. I lean forward to raise her head and adjust the pillow to a better position beneath her neck. “I’ll be right back.”

  She nods, trusting every word. “Thank you.”

  I let her touch linger on my skin for a few more moments before I make myself stand up. There’s nothing I want more than to lie next to her right now but there’s the small matter of the very disappointed bounty hunter lingering around in the hallway to deal with.

  Archer stands outside the door, leaning against the wall with Lilah’s discarded pistol in one hand. He admires it briefly before glancing up at me with hard eyes and sliding it into his belt.

  “You didn’t tell me that friend of yours was Fox Fitzpatrick,” he says.

  I close the door behind me. “It wasn’t relevant.”

  “Like hell, it wasn’t.” He pushes softly off the wall. “Do you have any idea how much his head is worth to the right people? Had I known he was here, I wouldn’t have wasted my time chasing after Hansel and Gretel.”

  “He’s not a part of this,” I say, keeping a steady tone. “Leave him alone.”

  “And why the hell would I do that?”

  “Because I will make your life a living hell if you don’t.”

  His lips curl. “And just how do you intend—”

  “Archer Allen. Former MI-6 agent,” I begin. “You were dismissed for reasons unknown but I’m sure I could crack those files wide open within the hour but on the off-chance that won’t do any damage to you, I’ll just focus on the very expired visa you’re traveling with and go from there. Can’t exactly cash in on bounties if you’re thirty-thousand feet in the air on your way back to Teabag Land. Or if that’s not enough, just give me about twenty minutes. Everyone has a skeleton or
two. I’m sure you have at least one worth digging up.”

  Archer chuckles. “All right.” He sighs. “I will look the other way on Fitzpatrick… but how about we say you owe me a favor someday?”

  “I can live with that.”

  “But I will say this, I don’t envy you or him. It’s not just the Harts out there looking for retribution against Fox Fitzpatrick.”

  “Who?”

  He lowers his voice. “No one knows her name. Only a few know her face but everyone knows what she does.”

  There are only two words I can think of that carry that kind of ominous fear. “The Boss.”

  “You might want to let him know.”

  I nod. “I will.”

  Archer leans back again, flashing a look of expectation. “I held up my end of the bargain. Now, where can I find Dante Hart?”

  I reach into my bag for a notepad. “Wisconsin,” I answer.

  His brow shrinks. “What?”

  “His childhood home is on Geneva Lake.”

  I scribble the address down from memory and tear off the sheet to hand it to him.

  Archer takes it from me and stares at it for a moment. “Well, I have to ask. How do you know this?”

  I crack a smile, smug as hell. “Library card.”

  He stares at me with confusion.

  “The Walworth County Library burned down in 1992,” I explain. “Only about half of the physical records were salvaged and transferred to the library the next county over, including the membership information of their grandmother, Mary Elizabeth Hart.”

  He blinks. “Bloody hell…”

  “The card was never officially used but her name still pops up in their member database, along with their home address. Geneva Lake, Wisconsin. Given the trouble Dante and the twins went to erase the place from record, I’d say he’s probably there now.”

  Archer folds the paper in half and shoves it into his jacket pocket. “Well, I’m impressed, Sparky,” he says. “You’d make quite the private dick if you wanted to.”

  “Thought about it, but I look stupid in hats.”

  He laughs and pulls out his wallet. “You ever do find yourself looking for a job in hunting, give me a call.” His fingers flick toward me, squeezing a black business card between his fingertips.

  I take it from him and slide it into my bag. “Maybe I will.”

  His grin stays on his face as he turns to take the stairs down. “Be seeing you, mate.”

  “Be seeing you,” I repeat, watching him closely until his shadow disappears out the door and it latches closed behind him.

  Caleb is asleep by the time I get back inside. I bolt the door behind me and slide the chain in place, feeling more than a little overprotective. Nothing lurches my heart more than seeing her this vulnerable. She’ll be back to her normal self by morning and she won’t need me anymore. She has never needed me, honestly, but it’s never been a goal of mine to make her either.

  Want, on the other hand. If I could figure out how to make her want me, then all my problems would be solved overnight.

  I set my messenger bag down on the counter.

  Caleb Fawn. I’ve never in my life wanted anything more than I want her. I spent days in a warehouse praying for water and I can safely say I didn’t want it to rain out in the fucking desert as much as I want Caleb Fawn in my life.

  But none of that matters if she doesn’t feel the same way.

  I reach into my bag and slide the brown envelope out. It’s been almost two years since I stuffed it into the back pocket and swore I’d forget it ever existed, but it always lingered in the corners of my mind like an awkward growing pain.

  I pull the papers out and lay them on the counter in front of me. She signed them and sent them over to me before the ink was even dry. Her signature even has a slight smear to it on every page, like she just couldn’t wait to get it over with.

  I grab a pen from my bag and sign each one. I don’t want to, but I can’t force her to stay with me. I could slip out right now and spend the next two years avoiding her again. We’d still be lawfully wedded but we wouldn’t be married like I want to be.

  I slide the papers back into the envelope and I leave it on the counter for her.

  I told her I’d stay, and I will. If tonight’s the last time I’ll get to feel her next to me then I won’t miss it.

  I kick off my shoes and lie down beside her. She rolls over and lays her head on my shoulder. Her hair brushes my nose. Her hand falls to my chest. Her toes swipe against mine.

  A few short hours of this bliss and I’ll leave.

  Hopefully, by the end of it, I’ll be strong enough to let her go.

  Chapter 27

  Caleb

  Ugh. My fucking head.

  I swear, if I ever stumble upon Elijah fucking Hart again, I’m going to punch him in the face. Seriously. How a full-body tranquilizer manages to make me feel like Nurse Ratched sawed into my head and scooped out my brain using her fingers, I’ll never know.

  I head straight for the bathroom for a bottle of aspirin, refusing to even turn on any lights along the way. It’s like the world’s worst hangover and if the nausea in my stomach tells me anything, it’s about to be one of those hangovers.

  My dry tongue rejects the handful of pills I shove inside. I try to gather some spit to swallow them down but it’s like sandpaper in my mouth.

  I stumble through the loft with half-open eyes and navigate the kitchen to find an empty glass.

  “Boxcar?” I ask the abandoned room.

  He was here last night. I remember his arm around me. His warm body pressed against mine. Mostly, I remember not even questioning it like it was always meant to be that way.

  I fill the glass with water and choke down the pills lodged beneath my tongue.

  “Boxcar?” I ask again, instantly regretting the volume in which I chose to shout it.

  There’s no answer. No surprises there. Our last moment in this place before last night wasn’t exactly a happy one. I said fuck you and he replied with I love you and I didn’t do a thing to reciprocate no matter what my heart told me.

  My emotions take a swift turn toward annoyance until I spot the brown envelope sitting on the counter.

  It takes me a moment, thoughts fighting to overcome the splurge of pain and misery, but eventually, I remember what they are. I remember everything.

  The envelope is a bit crinkled but it’s the exact same one I touched two years ago. When I never got a response from Boxcar concerning our divorce, I assumed he torched the documents and ran off. I never thought he kept them. He dodged my communications for two months after that and eventually, I stopped trying. He made tracking him down damn near impossible.

  I open the envelope and I slide the papers out.

  This moment has drifted through my head many times over the last two years. I imagined how relieved I’d feel for it to be over and done with. For Boxcar to go on living without the constant threat of my death lingering over him. Now that the moment is here, I stare down at my old signature and his next to it and cold darkness strikes my chest.

  Bartholomew Carson. My ex-husband.

  I never thought I’d be anyone’s wife. I’m not even sure I ever wanted to be. Sure, I’ve had boyfriends, but they all bailed on me. I was too emasculating. I didn’t wear enough make-up. My hobbies were strange. They all found something in me they didn’t like.

  Except Boxcar.

  I thought our differences made us weaker, but I was wrong. When I think of us together, it’s not the moments of anger or frustration that stand out anymore. It’s the good, tender moments that do. The way he always caressed my face before a kiss or the gentleness in his voice, even when what he was saying was harsh or blunt.

  And now, he gives me this. The thing I’ve wanted for two years. It’s the last thing he wanted but he made that sacrifice anyway, along with taking that bullet for me.

  He didn’t have to do that.

  And just like that night i
n Afghanistan when he plowed into that warehouse to save me, I feel an overwhelming urge to smack him for it.

  Chapter 28

  Boxcar

  I drop the last of the overpriced outdoor cameras in the garbage sack and toss the thing over my shoulder.

  Designing the ultimate home security system for a beautiful Hollywood actress and her live-in bodyguard is a dirty job, but there’s no one out there more qualified than me. I also owe him — a lot — so I won’t be charging him a dime for my time. Not that I would anyway. The challenge is, honestly, the most fun I’ve had in ages outside of the twenty minutes I spent in Caleb’s bed yesterday.

  As I step back inside the house, murmuring voices pull me toward the kitchen. I find Fox and Dani bent over the island counter, facing each other with serious, somber expressions.

  Dani’s short, black hair falls over her face, casting deep shadows of doubt across her perfect, pale skin. That plastic surgeon did a bang-up job fixing the Gash Seen Around the World. You can’t even see it unless you’re really looking for it, unlike Fox’s identical scar on his freshly shaven face. I guess Dani made him drop the beard, but he looks far more handsome without it if you ask me.

  I drop the sack to the floor near the garbage can and Fox looks down to see what’s inside.

  He sighs. “Seriously?”

  “Dude.” I slide onto the stool by the counter. “Trust me.”

  He and Dani share a nervous glance, she looking far more fearful than Fox.

  “Guys, I have this completely under control.” I open my laptop. “The system I’m custom-building here is going to be amazing. I did the same thing to my own place in Boston.”